Encountering Terror

If I turn my back on Israel, I am the one defeated.

The Sinai desert is silent at night. All around me, an expanse of rolling sand tipped with silver moonlight. I trod through the uneven landscape with a small group of tourists, young professionals like me, led by our Israeli tour guide, Natan.

When he asked a few of us to go for a walk with him, I surprised myself by agreeing. It was the same surprise I’d felt a few months ago when I signed up for this birthright Israel trip. What was I thinking? Hadn’t I sworn to myself ten years ago that I would never come back to Israel?

“We’re almost there,” Natan whispers, leading us up a steep slope. We haven’t walked far from the camp, but I’m tired from pushing through the sand. Still, I follow him, the desire to see where he is leading us more insistent than the burning in my leg muscles. As I reach the top of the slope, I look down into a deep valley, shaped in a perfect circle.

Natan advises us to join hands with a partner. “You’ll need help.”

Her thick, dark curls remind me of Alisa Flatow.

With every step we have to steady ourselves; the ground beneath us is constantly shifting. I hold steady to my partner, a grad student in Anthropology, keeping my balance by focusing on the bandana tied around her hair. Her thick, dark curls remind me of Alisa Flatow.

It’s that hair I think of when I remember Alisa, and her deep dimples when she smiled. I was good friends with her younger sister, Ilana, but I always admired Alisa from afar, with the floppy bows she wore in her hair, the bright leggings under her skirts. Even her glasses, big frames over her wide brown eyes, seemed the height of fashion. Whenever I came to their house, she always had a smile for me before zipping off to a party or a Shabbaton or an outing with a friend, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. When I’m in high school, I would think to myself, I want to be just like that.

My family had been close with the Flatows for years. There were countless play dates and sleepovers, and even a trip together to the Concord for Thanksgiving.

When my family decided to go to Israel for Passover, it was natural that Alisa, who was in Israel for a year of study, would come stay with us for the Seders.

When we arrived at our hotel in Jerusalem, my parents went to the concierge to arrange for an extra cot for Alisa. At the desk, Mom’s eyes fell on the front page of a newspaper, where the picture of a young girl’s face, oddly familiar, caught her attention. Mom picked it up and gasped when she saw the picture up close: it was Alisa. A terrorist had blown up a bus in the south of Israel, killing Alisa and seven Israeli soldiers.

All I could feel was fear, so thick it choked me.

After my parents composed themselves, they told us what had happened. When the initial shock subsided, all I could feel was fear, so thick it choked me. I had grown up a suburban Jewish girl with a private-school education. I lived in a big house on a hill in a neighborhood of other big houses. Sometimes, we didn't even lock our front door. I was 14. I had heard of terrorism, just as I had heard of anti-Semitism and the many other devastations that had befallen the Jewish people throughout history, but it had only been a theory. Now it was the only reality I could see.

When my parents called the Flatows, they told us not to leave. “Alisa would have wanted you to stay.”

So we stayed. But the rest of the trip was saturated with melancholy, and for me, a palpable terror of something happening to us everywhere we went. Even the start of a car engine made me jump. I willed every day to go quickly and was overjoyed when we finally boarded the plane to go home.

As I watched Ben Gurion airport fade into a speck beneath me, I promised myself I would never return.

So a decade later, I’m mystified to find myself in the mouth of this desert valley, cupped by moonlight and waves of sand. I’d been looking for inspiration all over the globe, but never once had I allowed myself to consider that I’d find it in Israel. I knew people who had come here and left inspired – some even stayed! – but I was skeptical; who has time for inspiration when you’re busy running from katyusha rockets? It was as if another person had taken my hand and signed me up for this trip, packed my suitcase and strode confidently through the airport, passport in hand, while I tried to wrestle her back into the taxi and head home.

“Look up,” Natan whispers.

I take in the night sky above me. The stars, thousands of them, are vividly displayed above us, bright as daylight, framed by a ring of moonlight meeting earth.

“See those stars?” Natan asks us. “Those are the same stars your ancestors looked at three thousand years ago.”

His words echo through me, sparking recognition of something long forgotten. I look up at the sky, drinking in every detail.

In this hidden corner of the desert, there is no trace of the Israel I left behind ten years ago. The fear is gone, replaced with the sense that I am steeped in history, and bringing my latest chapter to life. The tragedies of the past are not separate from me, nor do the triumphs against the most impossible odds belong to obscure shadows of the past. Every moment of that history is mine.

I think of Alisa, who loved this country, and her family, who in the wake of her death encouraged us to stay. We have always had enemies here; it is part of our story. But if I choose to turn my back on this country, I am the one defeated. This land is a part of me, as impossible to shake off as my own skin. I have tried to run from the past, but it has called me back. Now I find myself where it began.

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About the Author

Rea Bochner is a writer and musician who lives in NJ. She holds a BA in Film at Emerson College and a Master's in Special Education from Montclair State University. Rea has worn many hats in her life, including: a tour guide at the Disney MGM Studios, a story developer at Universal Studios and later, and as a teacher of students with special needs. These days, Rea is wearing her "Mom" hat, happily raising her kids while writing for various publications. She is the founder of the Jewish lifestyle blog, www.reezie.com

Visitor Comments: 12

Thank you for the reminder about how our conviction of the past creates a knowledgeable, viable, and committed future for ourselves and our home, Israel.

(10)
heidi massis,
August 9, 2013 1:37 AM

rea....your story so beautifully written is exactly how i feel....aboutIsrael....where i have live several times and plan to return to myreal home shortly....in 2000 i was in a bombing and thought i woulddie...but when it was over and i was standing on the balcony i looked up into the blackened Jerusalem sky and despite my terror i knew that i could not turn my back on my country....your story was exactly what i neede to read....its too easy to get so distracted in the diaspora and to become numb to the reality of our true home....my heart has been inJerusalem and my neshama is languishing in america....i must return and be a part of what i know to be where i truly as we all do belong....thank you for your very heartfelt story....cant wait to get home and rejoice....

(9)
Anonymous,
July 16, 2012 5:10 PM

Alisa Flatow Foundation

Hi Rea. Beautiful Article. You should submit this article to the Alisa Flatow memorial fund. They usually give scholarships to the best writer for those who wish to study abroad in Israel. Wouldn't hurt. http://alisafund.org/index.aspx

(8)
Anonymous,
July 16, 2012 3:03 PM

Thank you

Thank you for sharing your experiences in such a thoughtful, inspiring and vivid recollection. May you be blessed as you continue your journey home. May Alisa's memory be for a blessing.

(7)
sander,
July 16, 2012 5:06 AM

Thanks...

What a beautiful way to express our feelings and love for our heritage.

(6)
Ephraim,
July 15, 2012 7:48 PM

May Alisa's memory be for a blessing...

Rea Bochner deserves far more than just our thanks for her beautifully written, heartfelt and poignant message. Jews have always had enemies everywhere. Raised in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, my first anti-Semitic experience occurred thirty-plus years ago, when several gentile classmates treated me differently after learning that I happen to be Jewish. More recently, after I requested time off from work in observance of the High Holy Days, my former supervisor (also gentile) subsequently and deliberately falsified my job performance records, despite being aware and in possession of evidence that completely exonerated me. While nothing can be compared to the loss of a beautiful Jewish soul at the hands of terrorists committed to the murder of innocent Jews, the hatred never ends. From my experience, I am convinced that making Aliyah and contributing in the effort to help develop Eretz Y'israel for my fellow Jewish brothers and sisters may be the smartest move I can make, the idea being that we are working toward the same goal: a stronger homeland for The Jewish People. May Alisa's memory be for a blessing...and may Rea's courage and conviction be contagious and motivational for others!

(5)
Richard,
July 15, 2012 6:12 PM

Once is for always

I saw nights like that many years ago, when I studied conductng with Pierre Monteux, the famed conductor of the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. It was in Hancock, Maine, in the USA., where Monteux had his summer home and taught those of us who were lucky enough to have been accepted for study with him.
I never forgot him, or those many beautiful night in Maine!
Richard

channah,
July 16, 2012 4:57 PM

confused

I think you missed the reason for this story. It was not about starry nights but about courage, dedication, and love of a friend and a land.

(4)
Leah,
July 15, 2012 5:16 PM

May Alisa's memory be a blessing- it appears that it already is....

(3)
Ruchama,
July 15, 2012 3:21 PM

poignant, beautiful

I felt there with you in your terror, and right there with you when you shifted at the end.

(2)
Anonymous,
July 15, 2012 2:05 PM

Beautiful!

This is so beautifully written. I very much enjoyed reading (and feeling) your internal struggle to return, and then the realization of how unique and wonderful that feeling is when you embrace the history and our communal connection to Israel. I always enjoy reading your pieces and look forward to more.

(1)
Fred Campbell,
July 15, 2012 2:04 PM

Identification

As a Christian, I seek wisdom at the feet of Jews who have survived these thousands of years as worshipers of God.
Rea, and her personal story of redemption and reconciliation with her culture,heritage and country, has become part of the of my personal understanding and appreciation of that undefinable thing called being Jewish.
May god continue to bless and protect you and you magnificent heritage.

I'm told that it's a mitzvah to become intoxicated on Purim. This puzzles me, because to my understanding, it is not considered a good thing to become intoxicated, period.

One of the characteristics of the at-risk youth is their use of drugs, including alcohol. In my experience, getting drunk doesn't reveal secrets. It makes people act stupid and irresponsible, doing things they would never do if they were sober. Also, I know a lot about the horrible health effects of abusing alcohol, because I work at a research center that focuses on addiction and substance abuse.

Also, I am an alcoholic, which means that if I drink, very bad things happen. I have not had a drink in 22 years, and I have no intention of starting now. Surely there must be instances where a person is excused from the obligation to drink. I don't see how Judaism could ever promote the idea of getting drunk. It just doesn't seem right.

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Putting aside for a moment all the spiritual and philosophical reasons for getting drunk on Purim, this remains an issue of common sense. Of course, teenagers should be warned of the dangers of acute alcohol ingestion. Of course, nobody should drink and drive. Of course, nobody should become so drunk to the point of negligence in performing mitzvot. And of course, a recovering alcoholic should not partake of alcohol on Purim.

Indeed, the Code of Jewish Law explicitly says that if one suspects the drinking may affect him negatively, then he should NOT drink.

Getting drunk on Purim is actually one of the most difficult mitzvot to do correctly. A person should only drink if it will lead to positive spiritual results - e.g. under the loosening affect of the alcohol, greater awareness will surface of the love for God and Torah found deep in the heart. (Perhaps if we were on a higher spiritual level, we wouldn't need to get drunk!)

Yet the Talmud still speaks of an obligation on Purim of "not knowing the difference between Blessed is Mordechai and Cursed is Haman." How then should a person who doesn't drink get the point of “not knowing”? Simple - just go to sleep! (Rama - OC 695:2)

All this applies to individuals. But the question remains - does drinking on Purim adversely affect the collective social health of the Jewish community?

The aversion to alcoholism is engrained into Jewish consciousness from a number of Biblical and Talmudic sources. There are the rebuking words of prophets - Isaiah 28:1, Hosea 3:1 with Rashi, and Amos 6:6, and the Zohar says that "The wicked stray after wine" (Midrash Ne'alam Parshat Vayera).

It is well known that the rate of alcoholism among Jews has historically been very low. Numerous medical, psychological and sociological studies have confirmed this. The connection between Judaism and sobriety is so evident, that the following conversation is reported by Lawrence Kelemen in "Permission to Receive":

When Dr. Mark Keller, editor of the Quarterly Journal of Studies on Alcohol, commented that "practically all Jews do drink, and yet all the world knows that Jews hardly ever become alcoholics," his colleague, Dr. Howard Haggard, director of Yale's Laboratory of Applied Physiology, jokingly proposed converting alcoholics to the Jewish religion in order to immerse them in a culture with healthy attitudes toward drinking!

Perhaps we could suggest that it is precisely because of the use of alcohol in traditional ceremonies (Kiddush, Bris, Purim, etc.), that Jews experience such low rates of alcoholism. This ceremonial usage may actually act like an inoculation - i.e. injecting a safe amount that keeps the disease away.

Of course, as we said earlier, all this needs to be monitored with good common sense. Yet in my personal experience - having been in the company of Torah scholars who were totally drunk on Purim - they acted with extreme gentleness and joy. Amid the Jewish songs and beautiful words of Torah, every year the event is, for me, very special.

Adar 12 marks the dedication of Herod's renovations on the second Holy Temple in Jerusalem in 11 BCE. Herod was king of Judea in the first century BCE who constructed grand projects like the fortresses at Masada and Herodium, the city of Caesarea, and fortifications around the old city of Jerusalem. The most ambitious of Herod's projects was the re-building of the Temple, which was in disrepair after standing over 300 years. Herod's renovations included a huge man-made platform that remains today the largest man-made platform in the world. It took 10,000 men 10 years just to build the retaining walls around the Temple Mount; the Western Wall that we know today is part of that retaining wall. The Temple itself was a phenomenal site, covered in gold and marble. As the Talmud says, "He who has not seen Herod's building, has never in his life seen a truly grand building."

Some people gauge the value of themselves by what they own. But in reality, the entire concept of ownership of possessions is based on an illusion. When you obtain a material object, it does not become part of you. Ownership is merely your right to use specific objects whenever you wish.

How unfortunate is the person who has an ambition to cleave to something impossible to cleave to! Such a person will not obtain what he desires and will experience suffering.

Fortunate is the person whose ambition it is to acquire personal growth that is independent of external factors. Such a person will lead a happy and rewarding life.

With exercising patience you could have saved yourself 400 zuzim (Berachos 20a).

This Talmudic proverb arose from a case where someone was fined 400 zuzim because he acted in undue haste and insulted some one.

I was once pulling into a parking lot. Since I was a bit late for an important appointment, I was terribly annoyed that the lead car in the procession was creeping at a snail's pace. The driver immediately in front of me was showing his impatience by sounding his horn. In my aggravation, I wanted to join him, but I saw no real purpose in adding to the cacophony.

When the lead driver finally pulled into a parking space, I saw a wheelchair symbol on his rear license plate. He was handicapped and was obviously in need of the nearest parking space. I felt bad that I had harbored such hostile feelings about him, but was gratified that I had not sounded my horn, because then I would really have felt guilty for my lack of consideration.

This incident has helped me to delay my reactions to other frustrating situations until I have more time to evaluate all the circumstances. My motives do not stem from lofty principles, but from my desire to avoid having to feel guilt and remorse for having been foolish or inconsiderate.

Today I shall...

try to withhold impulsive reaction, bearing in mind that a hasty act performed without full knowledge of all the circumstances may cause me much distress.

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